


we're feeling like gold

by cxyst



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Athlete - AU, M/M, Olympics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-18
Updated: 2013-04-18
Packaged: 2017-12-08 20:03:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/765440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cxyst/pseuds/cxyst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[an inordinately fluffy au in which harry is britain’s olympic golden boy and louis is a twenty one year old retired diving star, and somehow, they end up being just what the other needs]</p>
            </blockquote>





	we're feeling like gold

**Author's Note:**

> basically i read matt mitcham’s book and here we are. the (incredibly cliche) title is from macklemore’s song gold. and when i was writing this i pretty much listened to nothing but macklemore’s album the heist so listen to that and you may find special surprises. also pretend the drinking age is 21 thnx. also i kind of lost track of this somewhere in the middle, so i'm not really sure if it ended up working out. also i dont know how it ended up being 17k but i’m kind of not sorry.

harry breathes, in and out, and brushes his hands together.

relax, relax, you’ve got this

it is the final. this is his last dive. he has tried not to look at the scoreboard too much, but he knows he has the chance of a medal. for a second he lets that thought spin around his head. the chinese diver has surely secured gold, but maybe he could scrape silver? the idea makes his heart race.

he hears his name boom around the arena, /harry styles, great britain/, blinks, takes the last few steps, wobbly on his feet.

the crowd is shouting, waving flags. he smiles hesitantly, raising his hand in response. his eyes flicker out around the stands, searching for his coach, his friends, his safety net. before he can find them he catches himself, trains his gaze straight ahead again.

focus, don’t fuck it up, relax, relax

think tall, jump high, two and a half rotations, fast arms, point your toes

relax, you’ve got this

stretching his arms above his head, he feels his muscles tighten, clench. ready. he breathes, in and out. he snaps up onto his toes.

he dives.

~

louis is watching from the stands.

he’s heard about this boy, britain’s gold medal hopeful. he’s watched him progress through the rounds. louis can tell from his easy grace, his loping style, that - as well as having years of training underneath him - he is a born diver.

he sees the boy’s innocent eyes, his nervous kitten grin, his floppy hair. though he is strong, he is also gangly, loose-limbed, and so very young. louis wants to protect him from the gaze of this crowd, these cameras.

/harry styles, great britain/

harry styles almost stumbles the last few steps to the edge. louis can almost feel the boy’s heart thumping, his breath hitching. louis remembers that feeling all too well. he wants to tell him to just close his eyes, just breathe, just relax.

louis watches the muscles in harry’s shoulders bunch, his calves tense as he rises up onto his toes.

he dives.

louis sees the dive in each component, analysing it the way a judge would. harry’s take-off is high and strong. he spins into the two and a half twist with an almost perfect pike position, chest pressing into his taught thighs.

without taking his eyes off the boy, louis’ closes his left hand tight around his right, pulling his fingers back into the perfect entry position as harry arches his back gracefully and does the same, plunging into the water with barely a splash.

louis feels the smile spreading on his face and he jumps up with the rest of the crowd, cheering and waving his union jack.

perfect.

~

harry stays under for as long as he can, almost afraid to come up. the dive felt good, but he won’t get his hopes up.

still, he can’t help trying to add it up in his head as he pushes to the surface. maybe, /maybe/ he has silver.

then his head breaks the surface and he hears the screams and he knows he’s done something special. the arena is vibrant, ecstatic. the cheering is deafening. harry can already feel the tears coming as he pulls himself out of the pool.

you’ve done it, you’ve got silver oh god god god fuck shit fuck you’ve won a silver medal at the olympics

he presses the heels of his hands into his eyes for a moment before finally turning to look at the scoreboard. it takes a while to process. harry stands stock still, one hand gripping his curls tight, with tears running down his face, as he checks and double checks what he’s seeing.

he can’t take his eyes off the numbers on the board.

because it’s better than anything he could have possibly imagined.

harry has done better than silver.

he’s won gold.

~

it is /complete madness/ in the olympic village that night.

harry isn’t really sure what to do, where to look, who to talk to. he’s constantly surrounded by people, but he doesn’t know anyone, or at least can’t put names and sports to the faces of the athletes in this breathless haze of joy. he is so euphorically happy but he isn’t really sure if he’s allowed to show it, thinks maybe he will be seen as cocky if he does, so he just smiles big and attempts to keep track of the people around him but it’s all a bit too much, and he thinks that as exciting as this is, he would quite like to just go to bed.

he would try to slip away right now, but everyone is hugging him, kissing him, slapping him on the back, and he’s trying to hold a conversation with each person but before he can speak properly they’re moving away, and there’s flashing lights and swaying bodies and alcohol and all he can feel is the weight of the medal around his neck. every time someone says ‘congratulations on winning gold’ it hits him all over again, and it feels like all the organs in his body are switching places.

the whole idea of what he’s done gives him shivers, and even though he’s constantly touching the medal, rubbing the silk ribbon and the cool metal between his fingers, it never quite feels real.

all he can think is that he is so, so far out of his depth.

~

louis walks into the great britain party with a group of diving officials and coaches he knows, and spots harry styles, the young gold winner, immediately. the room seems to be centred in a sort of whirlpool around him, athletes circulating so everyone gets a chance to congratulate him.

there are other gb medallists here of course, but harry is the official star of the team after his win. not only is he so very young, but he’s set a record. the highest scoring dive in olympic history. louis thinks he very much deserves the role as golden boy after that effort.

and he is truly golden. harry looks like the sun - and louis hates himself for the cheesy comparison, but it’s true - he’s that happy that light and warmth are radiating out of him.

the group louis has arrived with follows the movement of the crowd towards harry, and when they reach him he shakes each of their hands with that hesitant kitten smile, and thanks them like their congratulations aren’t the millionth he’s received tonight. his voice is low; almost too masculine for his cherubic face. his eyes are wide and shining green and he just seems adorably bewildered by the whole thing. it is charming to say the least.

louis is last to get to him, and though there are people jostling behind him he hangs around to chat. the music is loud, so he raises his voice slightly to be heard over it.  
‘i’m louis,’ he says, holding out his hand. ‘congratulations on your win.’

~

‘thank you very mu- wait, it’s louis tomlinson, right?’

now, this is a face harry knows. how could he not? louis tomlinson is one of the legends of british and olympic diving. he retired four years ago, harry recalls, after winning gold on the ten metre platform in beijing at just eighteen years old. harry’s coach had shown him videos of this man’s skill when harry was in training for london. perfect examples of the dives harry might achieve if he only worked hard enough.

there is a quick, dizzying moment as harry realises that now he is almost exactly on par with this man. this legend of his sport. he is part of these ranks now.

stay calm, be cool, he’s only one of your all time heroes, nothing to freak out about

shit shit shit

‘yeah, tomlinson.’ louis nods, smiling, but quickly turns the conversation away from himself. ‘that was some pretty spectacular diving from you today.’

‘well, thank you,’ harry smiles back, dimples soft. ‘i haven’t had a chance to look over the dives yet, it’s all been so crazy. it still hasn’t really sunk in, to be honest.’

his fingers flutter across the medal again, and he laughs shakily. louis’ eyes crinkle up as he chuckles too.

‘yeah, it’ll feel completely surreal until at least tomorrow afternoon.’

‘thanks for the warning. i guess now i know how you felt in beijing.’

louis blushes, and it’s kind of adorable. harry can’t help but grin.

~

louis can feel the heat on his cheeks. it makes him feel uncomfortable when people mention his achievements. he is never sure how to respond when told he is a legend. and when harry brings it up it isn’t really any different, except somehow it is. louis feels awkward, but it’s kind of nice as well. he feels overwound, jerky. but also like things are dancing in his insides.

butterflies.

he shudders. it seems he can think in nothing but clichés around this boy.

he wants to gain the upper hand again, now that harry has seen him nervous, blushing.

‘can i buy you a beer?’ he asks.

harry laughs, shaking his head. louis feels a tiny pang of rejection before harry says, ‘only eighteen,’ with a shrug, a regretful smile.

louis laughs too, relieved. ‘right. slipped my mind.’

‘wouldn’t mind a coke though?’ harry continues, gesturing to the bar with a thumb. ‘shall we go over?’

louis smiles, nods, ‘sure.’

louis lets harry lead the way through the crowd. it’s dense and swaying, and they almost lose each other straight away. louis reaches out, grabs harry’s t-shirt to link them together as they walk, which quickly turns to him resting his hand on his warm lower back.

the boy seems to take the minor flirting in his stride, turning around and smirking at louis, and he can’t help but let his mind stray down ‘that’ path. he’s not sure if the kid’s /gay/ or not, but he seems far too comfortable with this to be completely straight.

just wait, relax, see if he makes any moves, you can’t freak him out, god he is so cute

~

harry leans an elbow on the bar as louis orders their drinks, and he takes the opportunity to check the older man out a little more. he feels kind of bad doing it - this guy is his role model after all, he should probably be asking for diving tips rather than flirting - but he can’t /not/.

at the same time, he knows he has to be cautious. louis is older, confident. harry knows he’s gay - there was a big media story about it - so there’s no confusion about that, but harry has only been with one guy before. he’s still relatively inexperienced in this field. harry isn’t sure how to tell if louis is actually into him, or if he’s just being friendly. his natural social awkwardness doesn’t really help either.

god he is so so hot, okay no, just wait, you don’t want to freak him out, see if he makes any moves, relax, be cool

‘here,’ louis hands him the coke with a sideways grin. ‘and you should probably step back from the bar, i’m pretty sure minors have to stay a metre away-‘

harry rolls his eyes and laughs, cutting him off. ‘oh, come off it, there’s only two years between us!’

‘aah, but that baby face doesn’t do you any favours in looking older, i’m sorry to say.’

‘oh don’t you worry, i’ve learnt that the hard way! there’s only so many times you can get thrown out of clubs before you just give up all together.’

‘i suffered the same way. still get asked to show i.d. sometimes.’

‘ooh, that must sting.’

louis rolls his eyes.’ i should take you out one time, babyface. show you some of my old tricks.’

‘sounds great, grandpa. i’d be glad to learn from such a /master/.’

the teasing and the banter comes easily. they’re comfortable already, becoming still more confident as they talk.

they shoot each other cheeky grins over their glasses. harry puts his back onto the bar and absentmindedly rubs his swollen wrists.

~

‘i might not be far off a grandpa myself, if i’m honest. i’m starting to hurt now,’ he grimaces.

louis gives him a sympathetic look. he knows exactly what harry means, can almost feel the dull ache and sting in his own joints as he thinks about it. ‘so many days of competition in a row takes its toll on your body, huh? especially wrists.’

harry nods, stretching his muscled shoulders. ‘i have a really bad back, as well. gets sore really easily.’

and so they slip into conversation about diving injuries, which runs smoothly into training schedules, past competitions, funny traveling stories, pros and cons of springboard and platform events, of different synchro partners they’ve had, and on and on.

louis finds that he learns a lot from britain’s golden boy.

and when they say goodnight, he’s pretty sure he’s developed a killer crush.

~

 

harry is back in london and he’s training again.

there is a lot of media attention still, even almost a month after the olympics has ended. he has to get a manager because he’s being invited to so many events and interviews that he can’t keep track. he goes along to an awards show, and walks the red carpet with people he’s seen on his television since he was a child. it is almost as surreal as that first night, wearing the his gold medal at the gb party. /almost/.

his manager organizes for a label to give him free suits to wear to nice events like that, just as long as he remembers to mention who he’s wearing if anyone asks.

things like that keep happening. he gets endless free swimmers, runners, training gear, just so he’ll mention the brand. just because, as his manager keeps telling him, he is /influential/ now.

and, as weird as it feels to admit, he guesses that’s true. everyone seems to know him these days, and he starts to lose count of the times he passes people in the street and hears ‘was that harry styles? the diver?’

the problem that he faces is that he is an athlete, not a natural celebrity. he is just a dorky kid who managed to pull off something special. being nice to people is well and good, and he finds it easy to do, but celebrity doesn’t come easily. he feels under immense pressure being in the social and media spotlight, and feels terribly conflicted having to front up for appearance after appearance when he would prefer to just be training, or taking louis up on his offer of drinks.

he keeps thinking that the requests for interviews will slow down but they haven’t yet, and harry isn’t quite sure how to deal with it; feels like his gold is always at the front of his mind whether he likes it or not. he’s gotten back into training as soon as he can, just so he can keep reminding himself what all this is really about.

it feels good to get back in the pool, and he feels confident in his new dives already. but at the same time it’s hard, because even though everyone keeps telling him how amazing he is, he isn’t sure.

he’s been asked countless times what his plans are for the world championships in april and the next olympics in rio, asked if he’ll double up with another gold in four years time. even though it’s been confirmed now that he is the best in the world, he is still terrified that he won’t live up to the expectations of his country.

and with all the attention on his achievements, he is finding it hard to keep track of /him/.

and it seems that the only reason his friends want to see him now is so they can talk about the olympics.

and he’s starting to wonder who he is without his gold medal.

if he is anybody at all.

~

harry hasn’t had time to think too much about louis - well, aside from constantly wishing he had the courage to contact him again. and okay maybe he had one dream about him but that hardly counts because it’s subconscious and he definitely didn’t do it on purpose by lying there thinking about him right before he fell asleep come on he’s not a total creep - with all the media craziness, on top of his new training regime for the world championships.

but as soon as the man himself walks into the aquatic centre, in the middle of training, harry seems to be able to think of nothing else.

oh god why is he here wow he’s even fitter than i remember okay focus harry breathe just dive

wait what dive am i doing again? shit shit um

‘what dive?’ he calls down to his coach, chava, who sighs exasperatedly.

‘inward three and a half somersault, harry. the one we’ve been doing for the past half-hour.’

‘right, got it. sorry.’

he thinks he might see louis muffle a laugh into his hand, but it’s hard to be sure from ten metres up.

focusing himself again, harry brushes his hands together automatically, and turns his back to position his toes at the edge of the platform.

from then he is on auto-pilot.

tall arms jump snap into tuck and one two three rotations stretch out clean line point toes /splash/

when he surfaces, chava and louis are talking. he pulls himself out, grabs his chamois from the pool deck and dries his chest and arms as he walks over to them.

‘babyface,’ louis greets him with a mischievous smile. ‘nice to see you again.’

‘you too, grandpa,’ harry returns his grin before looking to chava. ‘how was i?’

‘well, i thought we were done with that dive today,’ chava shrugs, ‘but then louis pointed out your slight hesitation before stretching out for the entry. it gives your back a bit too much of an arch, which you know will lose you points… so, do it a couple more times to fix that up.”

harry groans and flicks his chamois at louis playfully. ‘thanks for that mate.’

‘sorry!’ louis raises his hands and laughs. ‘didn’t mean to give you more work.’

‘probably need it,’ harry admits. ‘can i at least have five minutes break, chava?’

he frowns. ‘mm, alright. but no more than five, puta.’

as he walks away, harry turns back to louis to see him holding back laughter.

‘puta?’

‘what? it’s his nickname for me!’

‘doesn’t it mean whore?’

‘so what if it does?’ harry pretends to be mad, but he is already spluttering with laughter too.

~

they giggle stupidly for a bit, and louis feels a hell of a lot younger than twenty-one. it’s nice.

‘so,’ harry finally says, pushing his damp hair out of his eyes, ‘what are you doing here? i haven’t seen you around this pool before.’

louis tries not to be too distracted by harry’s perfect body right in front of him, but it’s difficult.

fuck whose abs are that chiseled does he think he’s fucking adonis or something and his arms oh wow could he get any more fit /jeeesus christ/

louis brings his eyes back up to harry’s face quickly, but knows that his checking him out hasn’t gone unnoticed. harry is wearing a knowing, crooked grin, and his eyes look a shade darker than before.

‘uh, um,’ louis blinks quickly, ‘yeah, i trained more around yorkshire when i was competing. but i’m actually here about my new job.’

harry’s eyebrows raise as he smiles wider. ‘oh, cool! doing what?’

‘just working the front desk. maybe a bit of life-guarding on the side if they need me. but i, erm,’ he coughs, and blushes lightly, ‘saw you training, so i thought i’d come down and say hello. i know chava, too, from way back, so…’

‘yeah. cool.’

harry’s biting his lip now, looking louis up and down, and suddenly louis feels entirely too close and too far away from him at the same time.

and louis is just opening his mouth to speak again - not even sure what he’s planning to say but just knowing he has to break the charged silence somehow - when chava calls for harry.

‘five minutes done, puta. back up there.’

harry jumps a little, glancing quickly over his shoulder. ‘right, well, i’ll hopefully see you soon then. when do you start work?’

‘tomorrow. 4am sharp,’ louis adds with a grimace.

‘harry!’ chava is standing with his arms crossed, eyebrow raised.

‘see you tomorrow, then,’ harry smiles, already turning away.

‘yeah,’ louis says. ‘see you.’

~

when harry gets back to chava, the man is smiling knowingly underneath his tiny mustache.

‘aahh, little harry has got a, how do you brits say - a love-crush!’

he feels heat in his cheeks immediately. ‘no! i do not have a ‘love-crush’, chava. no bloody way.’

‘okay, okay,’ chava chuckles, before murmuring under his breath, ‘puta gets very defensive for someone who has no love-crush.’

harry rolls his eyes and heads towards the stairs to the ten metre, trying to hide the smile spreading across his face.

~

the next day harry almost forgets, in his early morning haze, about louis being at the pool. he remembers, suddenly, as he is about to push through the front doors, and pauses to look at his reflection in the glass, attempts to tug his hair into some semblance of order.

when he finally enters, he sees louis slumped at the desk fiddling with a pen, bleary eyed, honey-brown hair in disarray. he thinks, amusedly, that he shouldn’t have bothered trying to fix his own.

‘morning,’ harry says, scanning his membership card across the turntable and walking through. ‘bit early for grandpas?’

louis’ blinks, eyes focusing properly on harry for the first time. he sits up a little straighter.

‘oh, morning.’ he laughs a little and drags a hand across his eyes. ‘yeah, guess you could say that.’

‘and you don’t even have to throw yourself off a ten metre platform four hundred times!’ harry grins, walking backwards to keep the desk in view.

louis is silent for a second, trying to come up with a comeback. his mind is sluggish, though, so he settles on, ‘shut it, babyface.’

harry chuckles, shakes his head and walks on to training, thinking that he definitely wouldn’t mind starting tomorrow morning, and every morning after, exactly like that.

~

that session, chava springs a surprise on harry. the back three and a half somersault pike. they had started working on it before the olympics, but didn’t have it ready in time for competition.

harry has forgotten about it until his coach brings it up - it turned out that he didn’t need it to win gold anyway - and, if he’s honest, is a little nervous to try it again. it’s an extremely difficult dive, and it’s taken him a long time to build up the strength and speed to be able to do it correctly. harry knows he had the base work underneath him. he can do it.

probably.

~

despite his reservations, he hits it almost perfectly the first time, and the second, and the third. he is becoming more confident with it now, and chava starts making little adjustments each time.

about midway through the session, harry is standing ten metres up, ready to do the dive again.

his head is a little cluttered, as he tries to remember everything chava has told him. his usual methodical ritual of reciting the different parts of the dive is getting interrupted by the extras he has to think about.

he is used to this, though. this is how it is every time he’s working on something new. he has to concentrate hard on every second to get the muscle memory ingrained correctly. he is determined to remember everything, get it /right/.

he positions his feet, takes a deep breath, and dives.

by the time he realises that his feet have clipped the platform, he has already done another one and a half somersaults. he is completely disoriented. he has no idea where he is in the dive until he plunges into the water.

thankfully he hits head first, but he is also slightly over-rotated, so a lot of his back hits hard too.

there is a flash of white, and everything goes eerily silent for a second or two. then there is a ringing in his ears, loud and insistent.

everything hurts, and it’s a pain he knows well. the pain of smacking the water at sixty kilometres an hour. he goes through a primal sort of personal inventory, trying to figure out exactly what happened, whether he has all his limbs, whether he hit his head or not.

there is a panicky moment where he has to work out if he is actually able to get to the surface of the water, or if he needs help.

finally he manages to kick his way up and over to the edge of the pool. when he gets there, there are hands under his armpits hauling him out onto the deck. he lays there, gasping, as the other people in his training squad fuss around him.

it sounds like there is a huge crowd screaming right in his ears, voices echoing and bouncing around his head, even though he knows there weren’t more than three people on pool deck with him. his lungs feel too small for the air he needs, and there is a lump at the base of his throat that he can’t swallow down. and he can’t get more than a half-breath in every time he opens his mouth, and it makes his head spin.

he thinks, wildly, that maybe he is dying.

then there is a voice he recognises, closer, softer. there are hands on his chest and shoulder, rolling him gently onto his side.

harry coughs immediately, feeling warm liquid spill past his lips and over his chin. louis slides his hand down harry’s wet back, still speaking quietly in his ear.

‘it’s okay, harry, you’re alright. i’ve got you, it’s okay.’

he coughs again, tears squeezing out of his eyes as he heaves up more water and vomit and blood. he senses the other people around him take an automatic step back, but louis stays.

‘that’s it, get it out, good boy. you’re okay, hazza, i’ve got you.’

eventually harry can’t spit up any more, and he takes a huge, shuddering breath, eyes flickering.

‘what h-happened?’ he croaks, taking another quick breath, and another.

louis turns him slowly onto his back again, and pushes wet curls back from his face. ‘shhh, harry, it’s alright. just an accident, you’re okay now.’

~

harry sucks in more air, taking quick, shallow breaths like he can’t get enough.

louis can see that he is hyperventilating, so, working on instinct, he sits him up and pulls him tight to his chest. chava drops to his knees as well, pats harry’s back as louis runs a hand through his dripping hair.

louis puts his lips against harry’s ear, whispers, ‘i need you to breathe slow for me, can you do that?’

the younger boy whimpers slightly against his neck, but nods, taking a single deep, shaky breath.

‘what happened?’ he asks again, breath still hitching. ‘what ha-happened?’

‘you overshot the take-off,’ chava supplies gently from behind him, ‘clipped your feet on the platform and spun out.’

harry swallows hard, releases another breath against louis’ skin. ‘hurts.’

‘yeah, i know,’ he croons sympathetically. ‘god, do i know how much that hurts.’

he meets chava’s eyes over harry’s heaving shoulder, and they share a quick, relieved smile. harry is talking, breathing normally, and though they haven’t done a proper assessment yet, he doesn’t seem to have any broken bones. he’ll be okay.

‘you’ll be okay,’ the coach insists with a nod, patting his back again. ‘but no more today.’

~

within the hour, patches of angry red welts have appeared across harry’s muscled back and shoulders. louis trails his fingers over them lightly, grimacing.

‘ouch, babyface. that looks painful.’

‘mmhm,’ harry agrees through gritted teeth.

louis lets his t-shirt fall back down, and harry turns around. ‘hey, thanks again for helping me, really, i-‘

‘god, shut /up/ harry!’ louis laughs, punching his arm. ‘you said thanks twenty times already!’

‘sorry,’ harry bites his lip and his dimples pop and louis thinks it’s ridiculous for someone to be so adorable. ‘but thanks.’

‘ughh,’ louis groans, picking up his bag.

harry calls goodbye to chava and the other guys in the squad, then walks with louis up the stairs and out the front doors of the aquatic centre.

louis turns towards the carpark, but stops when harry doesn’t follow him.

‘oh, are you getting picked up out front?’

harry shakes his head. ‘getting the train.’

‘uhm no you are not.’ louis protests incredulously. ‘not after that stack! i’ll give you a lift.’

harry hesitates, reaching over his shoulder to rub at his sore back. ‘nah, it’ll be out of your way mate. don’t worry about me.’

‘it’s no trouble. come on, babyface.’ louis is walking towards his car before harry can get another word in.

and once he is sitting in the old, soft leather passenger seat of louis’ old corolla, with the warm air conditioning working the aching chill out of his muscles, and a gorgeous boy with blue eyes laughing next to him, harry finds that he doesn’t mind in the slightest.

~

louis gets home and flops onto the couch, exhausted. it’s only midday but he’s been awake for three more hours than usual, so he thinks it’s justified that he do absolutely nothing for the rest of the day.

so he settles on the couch with a cup of tea - two sugars, lots of milk - warming his fingers and tries to watch tv, but his mind is everywhere but the football game in front of him.

his mind is with harry’s damp curls and wide eyes and desperate fingers winding in the fabric of his t-shirt, and he /knows/ that harry is okay, but he still wishes he was with him. just like when he saw him on the platform at the olympics, before his famous, record-breaking dive, he wants to look after him.

and maybe it’s just the way harry clung to louis after his accident, the way he breathed his name like louis was the only person in the world, but lou already feels that harry needs him somehow, too.

and maybe it’s just that. or maybe it’s harry’s body or his eyes or his easy smile, but louis thinks his crush is definitely back. hard.

~

harry gets home and runs straight to the window, leans over the sill and watches the tail of louis’ car round the corner before he realises what he’s doing and drags himself away.

loser, you’re like a fucking twelve year old girl, pull yourself together

he goes to make tea - two sugars, lots of milk - and leans against the counter to drink it, listening to his roommate shift down the hall and thinking.

he thinks that louis probably doesn’t like him like that, that he was just being friendly by dropping him home. he thinks that louis could probably get anyone he wanted, with his looks and his achievements and his sense of humour and everything else. he could get someone his age, with a proper job, and his own car. he thinks that louis wouldn’t settle for a gangly, curly-haired dork like him.

but at the same time he thinks that maybe the way louis spoke against his ear, voice low and soothing, lips dragging, wasn’t exactly what harry would call /platonic/. and maybe louis’ fingers did linger on his sore back just a little bit too long, and maybe he did sit up straighter when harry walked in, and maybe he did laugh, really laugh, at his lame jokes.

and maybe louis likes gangly, curly-haired dorks the same way harry likes pale blue eyes and clean cut cheekbones and cheeky grins.

it is a scary thing to hope, but harry hopes that maybe louis has just as big a crush on harry as harry does him.

~

harry is back at training the next day, of course. he is ready to try the back three and a half again, wants to face the fear that has been creeping up on him before it gets too big. but chava won’t let him.

he says harry needs to do land work today, weights and stretches and practice spring dives into the foam pit by the side of the pool. he says harry is still fragile, still injured. and harry guesses he’s right. he trusts chava unconditionally, and he knows that his coach wouldn’t do anything if it wasn’t in his best interest.

so he drops his bag and goes over to start on the dry land program that chava has printed out and stuck to the wall. it starts with two sets of fifty bicep curls. he groans internally, but picks up the weights anyway, knowing that if he doesn’t do /something/ he’ll feel utterly shit for the rest of the day.

the problem with dry land work is that it gives harry way too much time to think. he lifts the weights and tries to count, but all he can concentrate on is the way louis smiled at him when he walked past the desk this morning, and he feels like a fucking teenage girl again because stupidly, embarrassingly, the memory makes his stomach flutter. and by the time he’s pulled himself together, he realises that he’s lost count.

he sighs, puts down the weights. the thick, chlorinated air is making his t-shirt stick to his back, so he tugs it off, and, wearing just sweat-pants, starts counting again.

~

louis watches harry from the window behind the front desk. he knows it’s probably really creepy, but he can’t /not/.

harry and the rest of his squad are the only people here this early, and the empty fifty metre pool is smooth and glassy. he can just hear the echoing slap and splash of the water against the edge, and chava’s commanding voice over the divers’ chat, but it’s muffled a little by the window.

louis watches harry watch his training mates, who are beginning to warm up with dives off the three metre platform. louis guesses he’s feeling left out, but louis knows from experience that dry land work is better for him when he is still sore.

harry’s shirtless again, and for god sake it should be illegal, because louis doesn’t think he’s seen anyone with abs as defined as harry who is still so tall and lanky. his v-lines cut hard into the top of his baggy track-pants, and his biceps tighten with every lift of the small weights, and louis finds himself resting his face on his hand, just staring. and he knows he probably looks like a lovesick puppy, but he can’t make himself care. absently, he starts to break up the chocolate bar harry brought him this morning - sliding it across the front desk with a dorky kitten grin and a ‘for yesterday’ - and feed it into his mouth in tiny pieces.

harry stops lifting and puts the weights carefully on the ground, then he reaches up to rub at his shoulders. his face twists in a small grimace, and louis accidentally mimics the expression. louis knows the exact kind of slow, jolting ache that harry is feeling in his back muscles. it’s the pain that can only come from stacking a dive, hitting the water at sixty kilometres an hour.

chava must know too, because he sees harry trying gingerly to stretch his shoulders out and walks over. louis watches him point to the foam pit, hears faintly him explaining that harry should try a few back two and a half’s into there after he’s stretched.

harry’s voice is low, still husky with sleep. ‘no, no, it’s fine, i can do the set.’

he runs a hand through his curls, stretches his arms up again, and louis stares at the arch of his back, the way his ribs stick out a little and his pants slip a little lower on his hips.

louis thinks that this boy is probably the most beautiful he’s ever seen, and he is a part of competitive diving, so he’s seen a fair few. he thinks that it’s adorable the way he is so determined to work hard, the way he wants to succeed. and he thinks it’s adorable that he bought him chocolate just for giving him a hug and some soothing words. he thinks that everything about harry is adorable, actually.

chava ignores harry and insists that he give up on the weights, and finally the boy complies and slouches over to the foam pit. louis has to shift his chair slightly to keep him in view, and the movement must catch chava’s eye, because he looks up. louis meets his gaze with wide eyes, knows he’s been caught and is instantly worried the coach will tell harry and he’ll think him a complete creep and will never talk to him again and he’ll be stuck alone watching him from his window forever more. but chava just smiles, winks, and turns back to the pool.

~

and so they fall into a kind of pattern. every morning harry comes in, disheveled and half-asleep, and walks past louis with a smile and some cute comment.

he finds himself planning them out on the way to training, trying to come up with something to make louis’ smile his favourite smile, the one where his eyes crinkle at the corners and his caramel fringe falls soft over his forehead.

more often that not it’s a simple, ‘morning grandpa,’ sometimes accompanied by a ‘good to see you didn’t pass away in your sleep.’

he finds that he starts to be able to pick up louis’ moods just from that first glance, those first words. he can tell when louis has had a big night when his eyes are a little red-rimmed, and he can tell that louis has slept well when his smile is slow and lazy, and he knows when louis hasn’t had his tea yet, not from the number of empty paper cups in the desk bin, but from the way his fingers twitch and fiddle with pens and the computer keys and his fringe.

he sees that louis is getting more and more used to the early mornings when he starts to shoot proper comments back to harry’s initial greeting, with a quick eyebrow raise and a bite of his lip.

‘was your cot comfy, babyface?’ is a favourite, probably because it makes harry laugh out loud every time.

whatever louis says, harry always walks down the stairs grinning, running it over and over in his head. he is past caring that he acts like a little girl with a crush - he’s starting to accept now that that is what louis reduces him to. and honestly, he isn’t really in a position to complain, because it feels /nice/.

and harry doesn’t know, but as soon as he’s rounded the corner louis slides his chair over to the window and watches, careful now to slouch a little so he’s harder to see. the other divers come in, swipe their membership cards, push through the turntables, but louis stays at the window. and he watches harry train, and get better and better, and he thinks there’s nothing he would rather get paid for.

and harry, oblivious to the pale blue eyes following him, trains harder and harder, determined to be amazing at the world champs. always in the back of his mind are the expectations of the media, of his country. even though he’s won gold, he is sure that it will be seen as nothing but a fluke if he doesn’t prove himself again. so he trains harder and harder, always striving for /perfect/, always knowing he might not get there.

he still has interviews, and he’s been offered any number of photo shoots and ads, but he’s waiting for his manager to tell him whether he’s taking them or not. he makes training his main priority, keeps on improving his diving skills, knowing that he won’t get any more of these kind of opportunities if he doesn’t. it’s still a little hard to balance though, and sometimes he’s so tired he can barely drag himself out of bed.

it goes on for three more weeks like this, and harry finds that even when he is worked up from doing an interview or reading an article about his great ‘double gold’ hopes for rio, he always feels calmer, happier, more prepared to train, after he’s passed louis at the desk.

~

‘louis has love-crush on you also, hazza.’

it’s friday’s afternoon session, and they’ve been working on harry’s three metre synchro technique in the pit, but his partner is getting a drink, so harry has a moments rest. he was almost falling asleep in the soft foam, but as soon as chava speaks his head whips up, and he almost chokes on a bit of the stuff that’s sitting under his nose.

‘what?’

‘you know!’ chava says exasperatedly, and harry has to listen hard to decipher his thick accent, ‘he watch you all the time, like lovesick puppy. i know this, and i see you do the same when he passes. louis like you and you like him. and i cannot watch anymore, you two pretending you do not.’

harry is silent, flushing.

chava’s voice softens. ‘why don’t you talk to him?’

‘i do talk to him!’ harry protests.

‘you know what i mean, puta! take him on a date - flowers, fireworks, candles, i do not know how you people do here - and talk to him the right way.’

harry starts picking apart a foam block with his long fingers. ‘i’m not sure if he thinks of me like that.’

chava tugs it out of his grip and throws it behind harry, back into the pit. ‘do not wreck my foam just because you love a boy. go now and ask him. i will wait.’

so harry heaves himself out of the foam pit and dawdles up the stairs, trying to work out some way to get out of this without chava finding out.

~

louis is sitting at the window, as usual. he sees chava speaking to harry, but the splashes of divers hitting the water are too loud for him to hear the words. he guesses that harry’s gone to get a drink, or go to the bathroom or something, which is why he jumps about a foot in the air when he hears his voice behind him.

‘hey lou.’

he spins around in his chair. he tries to keep his voice level, though his heart is thumping. ‘oh, hey harry.’

harry smiles a little and bites his lip, and his eyes flick down, and he looks somehow nervous. without meeting louis’ eyes, he takes a breath and says in a rush, ‘erm, so, i really hope you don’t think this is weird or anything, but i was wondering what you were doing tonight?’

harry takes another sharp breath when he finishes, like he almost can’t believe what just came out of his mouth. he hooks his thumbs into his shorts and looks hesitantly up at louis through the curls that have fallen over his eyes.

and louis realises that yeah, he should probably answer and not just sit here like a berk. but before he can say anything harry is talking again.

‘sorry, you probably think that’s so weird, it was just, like you know how you said you would take me out for drinks.. actually you probably don’t remember, don’t worry, just forget i said anything, i’m just going to-‘

he is so awkward and dorky and /utterly adorable/ that louis laughs. and harry looks up and his cheeks are flushed and louis is grinning stupidly at him.

‘no, no, uhm, sure, uh yeah, i’m not busy so we should…yeah, do something. drinks or, i don’t know, you could come to my place or, whatever. yeah that’s, uh, yeah.’

louis makes himself stop babbling before he makes a complete idiot of himself, and he thinks his heart might just beat right out of his chest at the look on harry’s face. because now he’s smiling, a proper, handsome, golden kitten-grin, and louis can feel his own eyes crinkling up the way he hates but he doesn’t even try to stop it.

and so harry nods and his dimples are soft when he says, ‘oh, okay, cool. i guess i’ll… see you after training, then?’

louis just nods, not trusting himself to speak again, and he watches harry walk, a little unsteadily, back down the stairs to chava and to training. as soon as he is out of sight, louis flops back into his chair and lets out the breath he didn’t realise he was holding, and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes and bites back his grin.

because harry’s asked him out harry’s asked him out harry’s asked him out.

~

harry trains like absolute shit for the rest of the afternoon. but he doesn’t know how he could possibly concentrate on diving when louis said yes louis said yes louis said yes.

chava makes a few comments about the sudden deterioration in his technique, but harry can see that he’s holding back a smile.

as he is getting dressed in the change rooms, he tries to remember exactly what louis said, thinks he heard something about going to his place, but he can’t be sure because, really? would louis really want him /over/? he really really hopes so.

and maybe he’s hoped just enough, because it looks like that’s what’s happening. when harry walks out into the foyer he finds louis leaning against the desk, turning his keys over in his hands and saying, ‘it’s awful weather to go out, do you want to come to mine?’ and it’s then that harry hears the rain drumming on the roof and he thinks, oh.

so they race out in the downpour, across the muddy gravel carpark, shouting and laughing and squinting past the water in their eyes. they collapse into louis’ old corolla, drenched and giddy, and the fumbling awkwardness they begun with is scattered.

their fingers slide together as louis turns up the heat and harry turns up the radio, and they both groan around their shivers because it’s that bloody boy-band again. so louis knocks harry’s wet hand out of the way and fiddles with the buttons until coldplay is playing.

harry shakes out his hair like a dog, spraying tiny water droplets all over the seats and louis, who shoots him a mock-dirty look as he puts the car in reverse.

‘watch my billion-dollar interior,’ he warns, gesturing to the old brown leather of the back seat.

harry scoffs and puts his feet up on the dashboard. louis knocks them down again with a gentle karate chop to each ankle, and harry pokes his tongue out. they pull out of the carpark laughing.

as soon as they’ve calmed down, louis asks, straight up and with a little crooked smile, ‘did chava put you up to this?’

harry loves that he is so open about it, so decides that he will be too. harry shrugs, smiles hesitantly, ducks his head. ‘probably would have done it anyway.’

louis chuckles and nods, keeping his eyes on the road. ‘good to know.’

his hands look really small on the steering wheel, and his eyelashes are long and his neck and forearms are an even brown and his fringe is soft, and harry likes that. likes that everything about louis is so light, pretty, clean.

they turn a corner and louis glances at harry out of the corner of his eye.

‘stop staring, i’m trying to concentrate,’ he protests, but he laughs breathily when harry rests his chin in his hands, batting his eyes and playing it up.

he puts on a little girl voice and simpers, ‘you’re just so pretty, louis,’ and he’s not joking.

~

they tumble into louis’ apartment, soaking wet all over again because of the run from the car. louis fetches towels and dry jumpers and they both strip off their sopping t-shirts. he can’t help watching as harry rubs his hair dry, bare torso still a little damp.

harry raises his head and catches him, and his dimples pop again. ‘stop staring, i’m trying to concentrate,’ he mocks, raising his eyebrow.

louis responds with the obligatory, ‘but you’re just so /pretty/ harry!’ and, half-giggling, they just stand and look at each other for a couple of seconds.

and louis is just thinking that maybe this will be like a cheesy movie and they’ll just start making out on the couch and that will be it, they’re in love, and happily ever after, and he’s thinking he probably wouldn’t complain if that was how this night turned out, but then harry looks away, blinking and shaking his head a little, and catches sight of louis’ record collection.

‘you have /records/?’ he breathes, and it’s like he’s just discovered that louis has an entire room full of hundred pound notes.

he walks over and falls to his knees in front of the piles, begins flicking through them with long fingers, every now and then letting out little breathy ‘oh’s when he finds a favourite.

louis bites his lip and just watches him. he’s long and gangly and he looks like a complete geek, sitting on the floor with dripping curls over his eyes, shirtless and still in his jeans and sneakers. oddly, though, louis likes it.

so he leaves the dry jumpers on the coffee table and sits down next to harry, pulling a record from his hands and placing it on the record player.

‘revolver. the beatles,’ harry reads the sleeve and nods as the warm sound fills the room, only crackling slightly, ‘nice choice.’

~

almost two hours later they are lying on their backs on louis’ rug, listening to jimi hendrix, the traffic outside and the rain on the roof. their bare shoulders are pressed together, and okay, maybe they’ve both had a bit too much to drink.

okay, maybe they’re smashed.

because harry is playing frantic air guitar in the air above them, and singing, low and husky.

‘i’m bold, i’m bold as love. they’re all bold as love.’

and harry knows he is being a complete idiot, but louis is laughing like it’s the funniest thing in the world, head falling to the side so his lips are a whisper away from harry’s neck, so he’s not too keen on stopping.

eventually the song finishes on a rich, open chord, and harry lets his arms fall, one sliding down the inside of louis’ wrist and resting just above his hand.

harry laughs at the ceiling, eyes squeezing shut. ‘god, i am such a /loser/.’

‘yes,’ louis snorts, ‘yes, you are.’

harry shakes his head and laughs harder.

louis is gasping. ‘what kind of teenager knows all the words to a jimi h-hendrix song?’ he chokes out.

and harry lets his head fall to the side, smiling wide and crooked, and finds that he and louis’ faces are awfully close. they slowly calm down, snorting and taking shuddering breaths, continually setting each other off again, but after a bit they’re just looking at each other. and it should all be too fast, too soon, the way harry feels right now, but the alcohol has made him giddy and brave like it never has before, and god louis is gorgeous like this, shirtless and small, all slow and lazy and contented.

so quickly, without even thinking, harry leans forward and kisses him.

their lips press together, and at first it’s clumsy, because louis is taken by surprise, but as soon as he registers what’s happening harry feels him tilt his head and kiss him back.

and harry can barely believe this is really happening, after those weeks and weeks of just /wanting/, he’s finally got louis’ lips on his and it feels reckless and exhilarating and probably a lot like heaven.

and harry feels like his life has been moving so quickly lately and all this tension between he and louis has been building up and everything has finally /finally/ slowed down. and the light is soft and the music is low and his heart is racing but it all feels distant, and he can finally /finally/ breathe.

louis fits his bottom lip between harry’s and harry can feel a soft scratch of stubble against his cheek, and automatically his hand falls to rest at the side of louis’ neck, thumb stroking lightly against his skin.  
harry’s teeth drag on louis lip when he pulls away.

‘god, haz,’ he breathes, nudging their noses together.

‘sorry,’ harry slurs, eyes half-closed and lips pink. ‘should’ve asked if that was alright.’

there is a second of silence, and then louis is laughing again, head against harry’s collarbone. ‘honestly,’ he sputters. ‘you are the most clueless person i’ve ever met.’

harry’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, but he’s still smiling, just because louis is. he is dopey from the drinking, voice slower than normal. ‘what have i done now?’

‘well obviously that would be alright-’ louis’ words slur together and he trails off, just shakes his head, and kisses quickly just under harry’s jaw. ‘don’t worry.’

there is a moment of semi-awkward silence. they’re just laying there breathing lightly, struggling to think straight.

‘so can i kiss you again, or not?’ harry asks.

‘yeah,’ louis smiles, twines his fingers in harry’s hair. ‘kiss me again, haz.’

~

harry is meant to train on saturdays, and louis is meant to work, but when they wake up, curled together on his couch, to sunlight streaming through the window, they know they’re both far too late to bother. chava will understand; he set this up in the first place, after all.

harry’s head is foggy. he feels louis shifting in his arms, stretching, blinking awake. their legs slide together, and harry isn’t sure if he’s relieved or disappointed that they’re both still wearing their trousers from last night.

‘mmm,’ louis groans.

harry sighs a rough, ‘morning,’ in response, pulling louis’ back a little tighter to his chest, tucking his knees in behind louis’ thighs.

louis nuzzles into harry’s wrist, still drowsy and cuddly. ‘how’d you sleep?’

‘great actually. considering,’ harry yawns, almost shuddering with it, ‘the fact that we have managed to fit two grown men lengthways on a three seater couch. you?’

‘mm, an amazing feat, that,’ louis mumbles. ‘pretty well. head hurts a bit though.’

‘that will make a lot more sense, lou, if you take a look underneath the coffee table.’

and so louis shifts half-off the couch, harry holding his hips tight so he doesn’t fall, and peers at the empty bottles piled there.

‘fuck,’ louis snorts, pushing off the floor and letting harry pull him back into his chest. ‘did we clear my whole drinks cabinet?’

‘not exactly sure. wouldn’t be surprised if we had, though.’

‘we were pretty fucked, weren’t we?’

harry nods against his bare shoulder. louis is silent for a moment, and harry can almost hear his brain working, clicking hazy memories into place.

his voice is hesitant when he speaks again. ‘we kissed, yeah?’

harry nods again, lips pulling up in a smile against his warm skin.

‘okay, so that bit wasn’t a dream,’ lou continues, more to himself than to harry.

harry chuckles. ‘nope. very, very real. tell me, what else did you ‘dream’ about?’

‘oh shut up,’ louis kicks back into his shin weakly. ‘wouldn’t you like to know.’

and it’s that easy, just to slip out of the slow awkwardness and back into being /them/, and louis thinks that maybe this is a kind of make-out-on-the-couch-happily-ever-after.

and he thought the best way to start a day was at the pool, seeing harry walk past his desk, but he thinks now that he’s found something better.

~

in the kitchen, they attempt to find flour and eggs and milk so harry can make pancakes, but louis’ cupboards are depressingly bare of basic cooking ingredients. and embarrassingly overflowing with tea.

‘jesus, you’re like a hoarder or something,’ harry teases, digging right back on the top shelf, ‘preparing for the tea bag apocalypse are we?’

louis, sitting up on the bench, speaks through a mouthful of semi-stale toast. ‘tea is life, harry. you will learn that soon enough.’

giving up and closing the cupboard, harry puts on a deep yoda voice and mimics him, ‘tea is life,’ and then takes a bow.

‘loser,’ louis laughs, and lets harry push his knees apart to stand between them.

and louis thinks he would really like to kiss him like this, so he puts his arms around his neck. he is hesitant, not sure what is okay in this new morning, whether this easy friendship dynamic is meant to stay intact when they’re sober, whether the kissing and slow touches are meant just for those hazy late nights on his living room floor. but harry looks up and runs his hands up louis’ thighs and they kiss again. it feels different, less urgent and fumbling than last night, because they’re not drunk now; louis can feel the edge of the countertop digging into his thighs and hear the traffic downstairs and everything is in high definition. instead of giving him the warm, vague feeling of last night, it feels like there are live wires over his skin.

he winds his fingers in the small curls at the nape of harry’s neck, and harry rucks up louis’ t-shirt a little to slide his hands across his hips. they kiss gently for a minute, and harry is teasing him - he keeps pulling a way a little bit so their lips are just barely brushing, then pressing them together again - and then finally he’s coaxing open louis’ mouth and sliding his tongue against his. and louis has kissed a lot of people, but he’s never felt anything quite like this before.

after a bit they break apart and harry’s just breathing lightly against his lips.

‘wow, you’re good at that,’ louis whispers, eyelids fluttering.

harry flushes and looks down and smiles, and louis realises how strange that must have sounded and laughs a little, shaking his head.

‘sorry, that was weird.’

‘mmm,’ harry murmurs. ‘a bit.’

louis nudges his nose against harry’s hot cheek. ‘want some tea?’

‘is there enough?’

‘shut up.’

~

louis drops harry home at midday and harry sprints up the stairs and flops onto the couch and just lays there for a while, mind buzzing.

holy fucking fuck that night just happened, that really really happened holy /fuck/ we kissed we kissed he said i was a good kisser we slept on his couch he has /records/ he’s so gorgeous holy fuck we kissed

he honestly can’t believe it really happened. and it’s bloody cheesy, but as he thinks it over, he feels like his time with louis was a whole other life, a whole other /him/. it’s like louis’ apartment was a place where his worries couldn’t get to him, a safe place for him to be, hidden away from everything, from all the things the world wants from him. for the first time, really, since the olympics, he wasn’t thinking about his gold or his training or the media or the upcoming world championships. he wasn’t ‘britain’s golden boy’, he was just harry. and as awesome as it felt to win the olympics, the way he feels with louis is almost better.

and so it’s strange being back in his own place. here, back on his couch, everything feels a little raw, and he feels like he could almost convince himself that that night didn’t even happen. he closes his eyes and tries to go back, but he’s so overwound that everything comes in flashes, and it’s confusing and it makes his stomach flip…

and actually he feels a bit sick.

he rushes to the bathroom and just makes it, throwing up into the toilet, eyes watering. he slumps over the seat, wipes his mouth, and the first thing he thinks is that he is hugely glad that didn’t happen at louis’ house.

as soon as he is sure he’s not going to chuck again, he stands up shakily. he pulls his phone out of his pocket and texts louis.

harry: can feel the hangover proper now

louis replies almost immediately.

louis: you throw up too?

harry: yep. all that wine tasted better going down

louis: have a cup of tea, cures everything

harry: tea is life

louis: he sees the light!

harry: you got me

swallowing down the sour taste in his mouth, harry walks back to the couch and collapses onto it, weak and shuddering. he can’t bring himself to bother with tea, and he needs to recover as soon as possible so he can make it to training that afternoon, so he just closes his eyes against the building headache and tries to sleep.

as gross as he feels, though, he can’t make himself regret anything about that night at louis’.

~

louis gets back to work the next morning, and it feels like nothing has changed. slumped over the front desk, as usual, turning his keys over in his hands and sipping his tea, he almost worries that he made it all up, that night with harry, in some sick, desperate fantasy. because surely something about this morning should feel different. but somehow all he can dredge up is that old, jerky anticipation of waiting for harry to walk through the doors.

when he finally does, that’s when louis feels it. he sees the new set in harry’s crooked smile, and the way he lopes straight towards him with his hands in his pockets and his eyes asking all the same questions that louis has for him.

‘hi lou,’ he says.

there’s a moment of hesitation when harry splays his big hands on the edge of the desk and almost leans too close before he means to, pulls back just slightly, and louis’ heart is stuttering as he closes the gap between them and kisses him. it’s quick, innocent.

‘hi,’ louis replies.

and they pull away and harry smiles and goes down to the pool and louis sits back in his chair and thinks, oh god, he /really fucking/ likes this boy and wonders how that happened so fast.

 

~

the world championships are upon harry quickly after that. his training becomes even more rigorous, even more challenging. chava writes up endless lists - work-out sets and meal plans and tips for sleeping well - so harry finds himself leaving the pool every day with a pile of papers, always slightly soggy around the edges. he sticks them up on his fridge, next to his bed, reads them over whenever he has a free moment. his roommate - when he’s around - makes no secret of the fact that he thinks harry’s mental.

it’s always like this leading up to big competition. most of the time harry feels like his mind is more tired than his body, but, like everything in diving, it’s an ache he knows well. it’s an ache he thrives on. he falls asleep going over dives, repeating in his mind the key words chava uses; jump, tall arms, one two three rotations, arch, point toes, lock elbows. he forces down those disgusting, chunky, vitamin-rich smoothies every morning, and stays away from alcohol. it’s hard, but harry pushes through, because more than anything this is what he wants.

and louis helps, he really does. he has been there, done that, one hundred times before, and he seems to know all the right things to say. most days he drives harry home, and they go over what chava told him that session, what lou saw himself. louis starts out hesitant, but quickly it gets so he isn’t afraid to tell him if his take-off sucks or his pike isn’t tight enough or he needs to do more strength work. harry takes everything in, always open and maybe a little too eager, because before anything else, he truly idolises louis.

and louis doesn’t push anything. harry appreciates that. it’s all a bit much to try and think about ‘them’ in any kind of detail, when there’s so much else going on in his head. louis keeps it light, easy - soft touches on the small of harry’s back, quick, gentle kisses in his car - and denies harry when he asks him back to his house.

the first time, harry felt a tiny twinge of hurt, but then louis smoothed a hand over his shoulder blade and pressed his lips to his jaw and whispered, ‘i want to haz, really, but you need to focus. get a good sleep, yeah?’

and harry sighed and nodded, ‘yeah, okay,’ pecked him once more and went up to his apartment alone.

and it’s better that way, it is. even if harry finds it hard to sleep sometimes, now that he knows what it feels like to be curled into louis.

~

louis is asked - as he usually is - to do the commentary at the world championships, and for the first time ever, he accepts. he doesn’t bother pretending that it’s for any other reason than to have an excuse to see harry compete.

so he calls his old manager and asks him to sort out the paperwork and technical stuff and then he’s going. he tells harry on the drive home one day, and his face splits into that irresistible kitten grin and he leans forward and kisses him for so long that they completely miss the green light.

louis speaks to chava about it as well, wants him to know that he doesn’t plan on distracting harry or anything like that.

chava just laughs when he says that, brushes it off immediately. ‘oh no, puta is focused, you don’t worry about that. commentating though, hey?’

louis makes a face, ‘yeah, i’m kind of nervous honestly. i’ve been asked to do it heaps, but i never really saw it as my thing.’

‘i think, commentary would definitely be your thing,’ chava insists. ‘you are the best talker i know!’ he adds with a chuckle.

louis shrugs and laughs too because what can he say? it’s true, he could talk for hours, especially about diving.

maybe he’ll be good at it, as long as harry’s gorgeousness standing up on the platform doesn’t render him incoherent (as it often does).

~

god, louis doesn’t know how to resist harry when he’s like this.

‘please lou, just tonight!’

‘no, you need a proper sleep tonight.’

‘but i’d sleep better with you there! please, i need you tonight, lou,’ harry blinks and pouts and dark curls flop over his light green eyes and his hand is on louis’ thigh, fingers pressing tight into the inner seam of his trousers, and louis thinks, oh god.

he sighs and lets his head drop back onto the seat. it’s the night before world champs competition starts at last year’s olympic pool in london, and harry should go up to his apartment by himself and sleep alone, like every other night. he /should/, but he doesn’t want to - apparently he wants louis.

and now he’s pulled the kitty eyes and louis isn’t made of fucking stone you know.

‘fine,’ he sighs, and harry cheers and peppers louis’ cheek with light kisses. ‘but we’re going straight to bed.’

‘yeah yeah whatever,’ harry babbles, reaching over lou’s lap to turn off the ignition and open the drivers’ side door. ‘come on!’

and they have a lovely, warm evening of tea and traffic noise and too-big jumpers and slow, lazy kisses, and then they curl up in harry’s bed together and louis falls asleep in a tangle of soft skin and warm breath and mad curls and he thinks he might not be able to even try to say no next time.

~

despite louis’ presence, harry still has a nightmare, and when he wakes up, even though he can’t remember it, he can’t shake the off-balance feeling it leaves. he feels the pressure of competing now - with the expectation that he do well in worlds being thrown in his face every five minutes, how could he not - and it makes him anxious and sick and panicky.

he slides out of bed as quietly as he can and pads to the kitchen, fixing himself a glass of water with shaky fingers. even when he puts it down he still feels overwound, jerky, and so, so nervous.

automatically he starts visualising dives in his head, but instead of them working out he stacks, hits the water hard and stays under forever because he’d rather that than face what his country has to say about it.

because now it’s expected that he win because he’s harry styles the gold medallist and if he messes up it’ll be all over the news and-

he’s thinking too much, too fast, but he can’t make his mind stop. and his lungs feel tight, and all of a sudden he can only take half-breaths in.

he tries to breathe deeply, like he knows he’s meant to, but there isn’t any space in his chest to breathe the air to, and he continues to gasp.

he struggles for a few long long minutes, gripping the counter, shoulders high, before he hears someone enter the kitchen behind him.

‘hey, hazza love, what’s wrong?’ louis is in front of him quickly, sliding an arm tight around harry’s waist, standing on his toes to push his sweaty curls back.

‘i can’t-’ harry chokes out.

the concern in louis’ eyes softens with understanding. ‘yeah, i know, i know, love. but you have to try and calm down for me. haz, breathe.’

harry tries to get more air in to speak but he can only manage fragments of words, of louis’ name. his eyes are wild.

‘louis, lou, i-‘

‘shhh,’ louis insists, sliding the back of his hand over harry’s flushed cheek, ‘shh, love, it’s okay, i’ve got you, deep breaths.’

harry lets his hands run down over louis’ ribs, shaking and fumbling, and then slide around his waist. he fists his hands in the back of louis’ t-shirt, closing his eyes tight and burying his face in louis’ neck and letting his voice soak in and calm him.

‘come on, deep breaths, i’ve got you, good boy, you’re gonna be fine, you’re okay, don’t worry, you’re gonna be okay.’

already it’s getting easier to get air in.

‘lou- lou, lou,’ harry whispers, mouths wet and hot at louis’ neck, the top of his shoulder.

louis smooths a hand over harry’s lower back and murmurs, ‘i know sweetheart, it’s okay.’

harry’s breath still hitches on every intake, but he’s not panicking anymore, and finally he raises his head from louis’ shoulder.

‘i’m s-orry,’ he hiccups, eyebrows furrowed. ‘i didn’t me-ean to wake you.’

‘no, no, don’t worry about it,’ louis kisses the corner of his lips, ‘you okay?’

‘yeah,’ harry replies shakily, then hesitates. ‘no. maybe. what if i mess up?’

lou nudges his nose against harry’s collarbone gently, slips just his fingertips into the back waistband of harry’s pajama bottoms.

‘you know what you’re doing, you’ve trained hard. you’ll be amazing. back to bed, yeah?’

harry nods, takes a huge, shuddering breath, then two quick, shallow ones. ‘y-yeah.’

louis continues to soothe him even when their back cuddled together under harry’s duvet, whispers encouragement and praise against harry’s skin until he drifts off again.

~

harry gets up at seven the next morning and makes him and louis tea. he feels too sick to eat anything more substantial, but when louis comes out to the kitchen he insists on making him his vitamin smoothie from the recipe on the fridge, watching him like a hawk until he finishes it.

harry is uncharacteristically quiet as he gets ready. competition starts at ten - louis has to be in the commentary box at a quarter to - and it’s only a twenty minute drive to the pool, so they have hours until they have to leave. but harry is bouncing off the walls.

he checks that he has the right speedos ten times before louis stops him. he pushes harry down on the couch and climbs onto his lap and kisses him slowly, just to make him calm down.

‘talk to me,’ he says, thumbing over harry’s cheekbone.

harry rubs his hands up louis’ thighs. ‘i don’t-’ he cuts himself off with a sigh. ‘it’s just so much pressure now, you know?’

‘yeah, i know,’ louis smiles a little, shakes his head. ‘god, i know.’

harry looks up at him through his eyelashes. ‘how did you go in your first competition after the olympics?’

‘alright, i guess,’ louis shrugs and makes a face, ‘came first.’

harry bites back a laugh. ‘alright then, i guess.’

and louis leans forward to kiss him again, just because he can’t help it. then he sits back on his haunches and looks sideways at harry.

‘just, i don’t know,’ louis shrugs again. ‘try and forget what happened at the olympics, if you can. don’t see yourself as the gold medallist. think like it’s back to the beginning, a fresh start.’

‘yeah,’ harry nods quickly, drinking everything in, like he always does whenever louis gives him advice.

‘just think, like, you’ve done all the training you can, you’ve still got the same amount of talent you had before. everything else is out of your hands.’

‘yeah,’ harry nods again. ‘yeah, that’s true.’

louis nods back. ‘you’ll be fine, babe.’

‘yeah,’ harry breathes. ‘i’ll be fine.’

and so louis kisses him one more time and then they turn the tv on and watch mindless sitcoms until it’s time to leave.

harry feels better, he does.

~

louis drives harry to the competition. they blast the coldplay cd that has inexplicably found its way into louis' car. louis is outraged to find that he knows most of the words, which leads to a silly, giggly argument over the band's 'musical prowess' compared to the fray's. it does well to drown out any unwanted thoughts.

when they arrive at the aquatic centre, chava meets them out the front. he leads them through the crowds in the reception area towards the pool deck, where harry will wait for his event to begin. there are people everywhere - competitors and coaches and spectators mill around - and the tense atmosphere brings louis back to his own competing days. he looks over at harry to check how he's doing, but he seems to be properly focused now. finally in the right headspace. louis can see it in the set of his shoulders, the way he talks to chava, voice low and determined.

'is that new guy here? daley or whatever?'

'yes, tom and the australian, matt mitcham are here. but remember, if you complete your dives like you know you can, a win is certain.'

harry nods. 'i know. i can do it.'

louis catches his eye and smiles, and harry's lips quirk up crookedly in response. he reaches out to link their fingers loosely. louis glances around, worrying about all the people surrounding them, but harry seems so certain that he can't bring himself to let go. it makes him feel a little off balance, to be sending such a clear message, but he finds that it also feels kind of nice.

louis checks his watch, noting that he has to be in the commentary box in five minutes. he tells harry so, and they stop at the top of the stairs down to the pool deck. the air is already thick with chlorine, and louis strokes his thumb over the back of harry's hand.

'feeling okay now?'

'yeah, i'm okay,' his smile is small, but there. 'just have to keep doing what you said. change my mindset a little.'

louis nods. 'you can do it.'

'good luck commentating,' harry replies after a beat, squeezing louis' hand.

and then he glances quickly over his shoulder, and dips his head to kiss him. it's over before louis can think properly, and then harry is jogging off down the stairs to where chava is waiting.

harry almost stumbles over his own feet as he turns to grin at louis one more time. louis shakes his head and chuckles and tries to ignore the idiotic fluttering in his chest as he heads down the corridor.

~

the people louis is commentating with he's met already - they are popular, well-known in his sport.

he shakes their hands and sits down hesitantly in the only spare seat. there is a small microphone, a pair of headphones, and about a million pieces of paper in front of him. they have the perfect view of the pool, as louis assumed they would.

without even realising what he's doing, he does a quick scan of the pool deck for harry. he can't see him yet.

people bustle around in the small space behind the commentators desk, pressing buttons and fiddling with wires. it looks like they might be going to start without telling him what to do, so he nudges the man next to him - peter lund, a grey-haired ex-diver that has interviewed louis before.

'so, what's the deal with all this?' he asks, hoping he doesn't sound like a total twat. 'i've never really commentated before, so-'

'oh, no worries mate!' peter smiles, teeth almost too big for his thin mouth. 'basically, you chuck your headphones on when these guys tell you to,' he jerks a thumb back at the people behind them. 'we have all the diver profiles here,' he gestures to the stacks of paper on the desk, 'and we just read each competitor's stats from there as they get up to dive.'

'okay,' lou nods. he feels proper nervous for the first time in a while - it isn't often that things bring him so far out of his comfort zone, knock him off balance like this - and he has to wipe his damp palms on his jeans.

peter continues, checking his phone absently as he speaks. 'and then after the dive, just blabber on. honestly, i just say whatever comes to my head. "a nice clean entry from daley", that kind of thing.'

louis almost laughs, even though nothing is really funny. 'alright. thanks. too easy.' he smiles, and even he knows how fake it looks, but peter grins easily back.

'we've got ages until they start events though, so just relax for the moment,' he says, and returns to his phone.

louis bites his lip and takes his own phone out, just because it feels like the thing to do. his stomach is churning, and honestly all he wants is to be down on deck with harry, where he can look after him.

when he checks again, he spots harry warming up with his synchro partner, all lanky limbs and pale chest, dark curls forever flopping into his eyes. his form looks good, clean and he is mucking around with chava as normal.

even though things seem okay, louis feels like his mind won't stop buzzing until he is certain harry's alright. he wants to make sure he doesn't get worked up again. he knows harry needs him.

he's gotten so stupidly used to taking care of him that he feels clingy and off balance. it feels like everything is connected - harry's happiness with his mood and his mood with harry's big hands on his waist - and oh god, he can't even get his thoughts straight, he's going to be even shittier at commentating if he keeps on like this.

so, ridiculously, even though he can see him in the pool right in front of him, he texts harry.

~

harry finishes his warm up and returns to the marshaling area dripping. he is feeling even better now - just the fact that he didn't completely fuck up his warm up dives has given that little bit more confidence. there's always that nagging knowledge of the reputation he is trying to uphold, but whenever he starts thinking about it too much he just reminds himself that this is a new competition, that he has trained hard and he can do it, he can.

probably.

he scrubs a towel through his curls, then wraps it around his shoulders, slightly shakily, before sitting down and pulling his phone and headphones out of his bag.

he tucks the buds into his ears and starts his 'pump up' playlist on full blast, then clicks back onto his new messages.

lou: u ok?

he shakes his head, smile tugging at his lips. his chest feels kind of fuzzy. it's nice to know that it isn't just him thinking about louis; lou is thinking of him too. he types out a reply slowly, fingers always too big for the keys.

harry: yeah boo im ok

he waits for louis' reply with his music blasting too-loud in his ears, tapping his fingers on his damp knee to the beat.

lou: looked good in warm up :)

harry: thanks, felt alright :) how's commentary?

lou: scary!! i dont know how to do this and nobodys told me what im meant to bloody say

harry: you'll be amazing! we both know you can talk anyones leg off, just dont think about it :)

it's easy to get into this rhythm with louis. harry lets his nerves fall to the back of his mind and just concentrates on him.

lou: i know, ill be fine. how long til ur competition starts?

harry: ages, theyre doing springboard first x

lou: program guy says ive got fifteen minutes come up if u want? xx

harry's heart tugs. louis is so adorable and caring and god, it makes harry itch to feel louis’ arms around his waist, small fingers tugging through his curls. but he has to stay put. chava is a pretty chilled out coach – he doesn’t push harry too hard, preferring to give him the freedom to push himself – but the one thing he is always adamant about is that harry doesn’t get distracted before competitions.

‘you must do everything i say when competing,’ he always tells him. ‘eat when i say eat, sleep when i say sleep, focus when i say focus. no muck around, no funny business. it is for your own good, puta.’

harry: want to but im not allowed xxx

lou: no problem love, just focus then

harry: dont worry, coldplay is getting me pumped up

lou: good god i question your sanity sometimes

harry: love you!! xxxx

lou: yeah yeah, love u too xx

harry lets his breath out in a shaky huff and leans his head back on the tiled wall, grinning stupidly.

he catches the eye of one of the other athletes, who is giving him a funny look, but he can't bring himself to do anything but smile at him.

his thoughts are warm and slow and filled with louis, and he feels more relaxed than he's ever been before a competition. he feels ready.

~

harry wins the ten metre platform.

it's all louis can do not to start fucking squealing into his microphone. the other commentators are shooting him sideways grins in between exclaiming that 'britain's golden boy has done it again! harry styles takes home gold in the world championships ten metre platform dive!'

harry looks so happy, even from the commentating booth; he hugs chava and his synchro partner and the new kid tom daley and he's all pale gangly limbs and damp curls and wide grin. louis is bouncing in his seat.

'bathroom break,' he mouths to one of the other commentators and rushes out the door before anyone can stop him. because this probably isn't allowed, isn't proper commentator etiquette, but he can't just sit up there and be so close to harry but so far away, wanting, needing, so badly to be with him and tell him well done and that he's so proud of him and he knew he could do it.

he probably looks like a complete dolt, bounding along like a puppy dog, but he can't make himself care. he runs down endless stairs and skids across wet tiles and around sharp corners, straight to where he knows harry will be. he accidentally elbows someone in his rush to get through the crowd.

finally he sees him. harry spots louis at almost the same moment, pulls out of chava's second embrace to turn his grin on him, and louis thinks, good lord, you could fucking eat cereal out of those dimples, and then before his brain can blurt up any more ridiculous loving bullshit he's flinging himself at harry.

harry's arms wind around louis' back, cradling his head tight against his chest, and louis pulls back just a little to kiss at his damp collarbone, murmurs, 'god, i'm so proud of you, haz, you did it, you did it, i knew you could do it.'

and harry laughs, almost hysterically. 'oh my goodness, i did it. i'm not a sham.'

the crowd in the stands are still cheering, a huge wall of noise hitting them again and again, and there are people all around them - other competitors and officials and coaches - all shouting and smiling and waiting to get their piece of harry.

but he just presses his forehead to louis' and pulls that perfect kitten grin and breathes, 'i did it,' again.

louis almost can't hear him over the din but he sees the joy in his eyes and knows. he knows the feeling of all the pressure suddenly being gone, the almost painful whoosh of air into your chest that you didn't know you were missing. he knows that quick, sweeping relief that overcomes you. he knows how amazing, how overwhelming it feels.

'i did it,' harry pants, shoulders high. 'the gold wasn't a fluke. i'm not a sham. i did it.'

'you did it,' louis replies soothingly. 'you did it babe, you did it.'

harry's curls are dripping water onto louis' forehead and his t-shirt is soaked through from being pressed to harry's slick chest but he honestly couldn't give two fucks in this moment. their faces are close and louis thinks harry might be about to kiss him right here, in front of all these cameras and people. he thinks he might not mind that at all.

but then chava is squeezing between them and hugging louis, walking him backwards a step and smiling wide and speaking in rapid fire spanish that louis can't make heads or tails of. lou just laughs and smiles and nods and says, 'he did it,' again and again.

harry gets surrounded by everyone now, and louis and chava stay close by him.

louis watches him make his way down the pool deck, barely getting five metres before another congratulator is upon him. lou knows harry just wants to get back to where he can sit down and let it sink in, but he still stops for everyone. he is forever that hesitant teenager, looking bewildered and dazed by all the attention, shaking hands with everybody and saying, 'thank you, thank you, thanks so much.'

harry is shining and radiant and lovely.

and louis thinks, not for the first time, that harry really is golden.

~

after the medal ceremony and the fight through the media scrum that is the carpark and then the wet, slow traffic on the drive home, louis and harry finally make it through harry's doorway.

it's late now, sky dark grey outside the window, so harry flips on the light and dumps his bag in the doorway. he flops down on his couch and says, 'stay.'

his cheeks are flushed pink and his hair is rumpled and chlorine-stiff and his old talent squad jumper rides up to show the smooth lines of his hips and his fingers are long and white-knuckled around the velvet medal case and his eyes are slightly bloodshot but so, so green.

and how in hell is louis supposed to refuse that?

so he smiles and says, 'yeah,' and goes to the tiny kitchen to fill the kettle.

when he gets back with tea, harry's eyes are closed, his breathing slow and easy. louis puts the cups on the table and harry's eyes snap open again at the small sound. he relaxes when he sees it's just louis; shifts onto his side and opens his arms for him.

lou shakes his head, smiling fondly. 'come on haz, have a shower and we'll go to bed. you'll only fall asleep here and hurt your back.'

harry groans, husky and low, but doesn't argue. he just heaves himself up and follows louis to his bedroom, where he lets himself be pushed into the ensuite. louis leaves the door open a crack.

'don't collapse in there or anything.'

'shut up,' harry drawls, already tugging off his track-pants. ''m not a complete invalid.'

'debatable,' he hears louis mutter.

he ignores him and turns the hot water on. then he gets in and just stands under the spray.

it takes him a few minutes to start proper freaking out.

thank god

thank fucking god

oh thank the fucking lord and baby jesus and mary and buddha and obama and-

thank god

i did it

i am not a sham or a fluke or a flash in the pan or a one hit wonder or a, a- anything

i'm harry fucking styles and i'm still the fucking best in the fucking world

'fuck,' he says out loud, quiet enough that the shower noise drowns it out.

he lets the hot water pour over him and cries a bit and washes his hair and swears some more and cries some more then gets out.

he falls onto the fully-made bed next to louis, in just his towel. there is a minute of silence, and then harry turns his head and catches louis' eye, and as soon as he does, they both burst out laughing.

'fuck,' harry chokes. he presses the heels of his hands into his eyes until he sees stars. 'fuck, lou.'

lou sputters again. 'fuck.'

'fuck, fuck, fuck.'

there is more silence.

then louis says, 'also, fuck.' and that starts them off again.

when they finally calm down, harry is too tired to do anything more than tug on a pair of boxers, pull back the covers, and collapse into bed.

louis strips to his boxers too, leaves his jeans and still-damp t-shirt in a pile at the foot of harry's bed, and curls into harry's warm side. he strokes softly along harry's ribs and listens to his slow sleep-breathing until he drifts off too.

~

 

harry wakes up with lips pressed to his shoulder and a serious hard on.

okay.

he shifts and looks down and finds louis' adorable sleepy face smushed against his bicep, and registers the bare thigh between his legs.

right.

biting his lip, he lifts his arm gingerly to place it curled around louis' head instead, attempting to pull his hips away at the same time. louis' eyelids flutter sweetly, and he lets out a soft groan and nuzzles further into harry's space, fingernails digging in to the skin just above his hip.

'wass'a time?'

harry reaches with his other arm to turn the bedside table clock around.

'11:46 am,' he tells louis, clearing his throat after his voice comes out husky and rough.

'mmm, that's a good sleep in.'

harry nods slowly in agreement, trailing his fingertips over louis' bare shoulder and praying he doesn't notice the hard on pressed against his thigh.

no such luck. beginning to wake up more now, louis moves his head to catch harry's eye and raise his eyebrows. when harry doesn't react, louis shifts his thigh a little, rubbing up against the silk of his boxers.

harry forces his eyes not to flutter closed. he shrugs, smiles sleepily. 'sorry?'

louis laughs. it's low and sleep-heavy. 'naughty, haz.'

harry shifts his own leg a little, sliding it up between louis'.

'you can talk, lou.'

louis doesn't bother to hide his cheeky grin as he rolls his thigh up again, a little harder this time.

harry, by contrast, tries very hard to stop the shocked grunt that escapes his mouth, but fails epically.

louis stops there, though, thank god. he drags his thigh down so it sits between harry's knees instead, and turns his face up to kiss lightly at his jaw.

'so, world champion.'

harry chuckles, reaching down to subtly adjust his boxers. louis notices anyway, of course, and his grin grows wider against harry's skin.

'still can't believe i did it,' harry says. 'i seriously thought i wasn't going to win again.'

louis nods, kisses his pulse point. 'i'm so proud of you, haz.'

harry feels a flush spreading down his neck and chest, half because of the praise, and half because louis is still trailing soft kisses down his neck.

lou is leaning up on an elbow now, one hand sliding up and down harry's ribs.

'i-' harry's breath hitches as he feels louis' tongue press into the dip of his collarbone. 'i never asked how your commentating w-went.'

'mm,' louis sighs, breath cool on harry's heated skin. 'it was alright. got to watch you. but,' he shrugs, leaves another kiss at harry's collarbone, 'i didn't really know what to say most of the time. was kind of boring.'

'mmm,' harry nods, swallows hard. he is trying to keep his breathing normal, but it's racing ahead of him.

louis meets his eyes and smiles. it's slow and lazy, like honey. he thumbs over a spot on harry's neck.

'can i..?'

he leaves it open ended, but harry knows what he means. it puts a warm, swooping feeling in his stomach.

'yeah,' he says quickly, trailing his nails along louis' tan shoulder blade again. he leans in to peck him on the lips once. 'yeah, sure, whatever you want, i mean- yeah.'

and he sounds desperate and young but louis just smiles again and leans forward and kisses harry's neck, open-mouthed. his teeth drag, and harry tilts his head back on the pillows and his jaw clenches and he lets out a breathless laugh.

louis smiles before he latches on again. he properly sucks this time, tongue pulsing hot against harry's skin, teeth digging in.

he pulls back after a while and thumbs again over the spot, which is now red and slick, with a few faint teeth marks. there are suddenly goosebumps under his fingers.

'this okay?' louis checks, and harry laughs breathily again.

'god, yeah. don't stop.'

so louis presses his lips to the same place and sucks, hard. harry lets out a throaty moan and one of his hands flies up to grip loosely in louis' hair.

louis hand still strokes up and down harry's chest. his fingers pause at his waistband, trailing along the fabric.

harry freezes, swallows hard again. it feels like all the blood in his body is pulsing at the one point where louis' tongue is pressed against his skin, and he is achingly hard again in his boxers. all he wants is for louis to touch him, but he doesn't want to push anything in case he backs out.

louis is breathing deeply through his nose, concentrating hard on not biting down too sharply on harry's soft skin. his hand rests on the top of harry's boxers. he isn't sure how far he can go with this. harry is so young and sweet and loving, and louis is scared to push him too much. but, judging from his reactions, harry isn't complaining.

tentatively, louis moves his hand further down. he can feel how hard harry is, even more than earlier, and he rolls the heel of his hand down gently.

harry stiffens and groans again. 'lou,' he breathes. 'god, lou.'

louis stops his work on his neck and asks, 'is this okay?' lips dragging on harry's red skin.

'yes, yes, yeah,' harry babbles, chest rising and falling fast.

louis smiles and licks hotly over the mark he's just made, which is already blooming a darker red than before. 'whoops,' he says. he grins wider and props himself higher on his elbow to better see harry's face. 'that's probably gonna be visible.'

'good,' harry says immediately, reaching up to press down on the lovebite. he rocks his hips a little into louis hand as lou presses down again.

'can i-' harry fingers the waistband of louis' underwear. 'as well?'

louis' breath catches and he nods and kisses harry's flushed cheek. then without warning he tugs down one side of harry's boxers and slips his hand inside.

harry turns his face into the curve of louis' shoulder to muffle his low groan as a small hand wraps around him and strokes upwards once. he fumbles to pull louis' boxers down his thighs and mirrors the touch hesitantly. harry takes it as a good sign when louis lets out a shaky breath against harry's throbbing neck.

the jerk each other off clumsily, forearms and elbows knocking, thighs tensing and trembling, breath coming hard and fast.

harry comes first, with a low shaky moan and broken fragments of louis' name, light 'uh, uh, uh,'s punctuating louis' strokes as he works him through it.

harry is dazed and drowsy, movements halting, but he continues to jerk louis, panting, 'c'mon lou,' against his shoulder until he comes warm all over harry's big hand.

they lie there for another minute, just coming down, before louis starts laughing. harry starts up soon after, and then they're clinging helplessly and grinning against each other's skin. it's the second time in as many days that they have worked through overwhelming emotion by laughing, and that's probably more than slightly weird, but they can't stop once they've gotten  
started.

'oh my god,' louis splutters.

'that was so good,' harry replies with a giggle, almost embarrassingly honest as usual.

louis' eyes scrunch up adorably. 'how did that even happen?'

harry shakes his head at the roof before smiling down at louis. his fingernails scratch lightly against his scalp.

'i love you,' he says, and it's so quiet louis could probably pretend he didn't hear.

'love you too,' louis whispers back. he hides his grin in the bedsheets.

they are quiet for a moment.

'i'm sticky,' harry says.

predictably, that starts them of giggling again, and the short, tense thrumming between them, the lingering gravity of what they have just confessed, is gone.

'let's have a shower,' louis says,.

~

after they make out in the shower for twenty minutes under the pretense of getting clean, they sit down at harry's tiny kitchen table to eat breakfast-slash-lunch in their boxers. it's warm in harry's flat, and they play footsies under the table and work through a pile of toast.

they are quiet for a bit, and then harry asks, 'are you my boyfriend?'

and it feels so clean and honest, put like that, so louis nods. 'yeah. i mean, if you want me to be.'

harry grins wide and says, 'yeah. well, i do.'

and louis smiles back, eyes crinkling, and pushes up from the table. he walks around and slides into harry's lap and kisses him. it's quick and soft, mostly because they can't stop smiling long enough to do it properly.

'you're my boyfriend,' harry says. he looks like gold.

'mm,' louis thumbs over harry's red bottom lip, biting back his fond smile. 'how did that happen so fast?'


End file.
